


Entwined

by SerpentInRed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:25:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentInRed/pseuds/SerpentInRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is on a mission … a mission that goes terribly wrong. Now, she has to find a way to reverse her situation, or forever lose her soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entwined

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StBridgit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StBridgit/gifts), [Tomione_Forum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomione_Forum/gifts).



> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> A/N: This story was written as a part of the Secret Santa for Tomione Forum's StBridgit.

**Entwined**

**Chapter One**

She hid behind a tree, her heart pounding against her chest and the flask in her hand clasped close to her. She didn’t bother attempting to Apparate; she knew it wouldn’t work. Voldemort would’ve placed wards around the area to prevent her from Apparating the moment he’d joined in the chase.

Breaths came out of her mouth in loud pants, and she quickly put her free hand over it, attempting to muffle the sound. She nearly stopped breathing the moment she felt the air around her shift.

It was almost imperceptible, and despite the situation she was in, she couldn’t help but be in both awe and fear with his prowess in magic. She had yet to hear about someone who could Apparate and Disapparate without making a sound; it would certainly come in handy when he wanted to sneak up on someone.

Someone like _**her** _.

“I do not have time for your pesky games, Hermione Granger,” a cold, high voice said. “Come out now, and Lord Voldemort might consider letting you live.”

If she weren’t busy hiding, she would’ve laughed out loud at his words. Like she would ever believe the lies that were being sprouted from his mouth. She wasn’t that gullible.

A crack resounded throughout the air.

“My Lord, the perimeter has been secured,” the words of Lucius Malfoy reached her ears.

She would’ve rolled her eyes upon hearing the groveling voice Lucius had used, if she hadn’t been frightened by the information that he had just delivered. She hoped desperately that Lucius was being his usual, blundering self and had made a mistake when it came to securing the perimeter, or else she would never get out of here alive.

“Excellent,” Voldemort said.

The predatory tone of voice he had adopted reminded Hermione of a wild animal, or perhaps the basilisk itself, waiting to strike down upon its prey. It bespoke of restlessness, of endless fervor, and of the wild need to conquer. It laid Voldemort’s final goal out in the clear: He wasn’t going to give up. He wasn’t going to walk away from this without capturing her; she had signed her own death warrant, and now Death himself was coming to claim her soul.

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to surrender. It wasn’t part of her nature. No, instead, she hugged the item that brought her into this situation closer, as if she wanted to absorb it into her body.

It had been approximately five years since the battle of Hogwarts. Though Hermione never believed in fortune-telling, it nearly broke her down when the one thing that proved her correct was her best friend’s death. Everyone had thought that the final showdown would’ve been between Harry and Voldemort. Despite what the defenders of Hogwarts did, they knew—they _**believed** _ that the final battle would have been between Harry and Voldemort. That was what the prophecy said. That was what _**Dumbledore** _ had said.

Until Harry died. It wasn’t even by a curse. No. It was a simple matter of gravity and the fact that the body of a human, magical or not, could never sustain the deathly blow of a giant falling on top of them. But nobody could believe that Harry’s end would be so anticlimactic. Even the Death Eaters waited for Harry to stand up, ready to defy their lord and master once more, but he remained still, never to move again.

The following battle had been messy. People who fought against Voldemort’s regime fled, attempting to make a run for it before they got captured by the Death Eaters. Many of them failed and were taken prisoner. A small group of them still managed to escape, but it wasn’t without a price—a price that each and every one of the survivors paid until this day. The guilt of not dying was worse than any other torture, and though it was never spoken out loud, Hermione could easily see it in the eyes of her companions as well as in the mirror when she woke up in the morning.

A crack resounded throughout the area, signifying that Lucius had Disapparated from the area again, perhaps sent on another mission while Hermione had been immersed in her own thoughts.

“You hear that, Hermione Granger? You’re trapped,” Voldemort said softly. “I confess that though I can be a patient man, I’m not very fond of waiting today. Be the intelligent witch that you were often rumored to be and come out. You should know that letting Lord Voldemort come and fetch you would be an … unwise decision.”

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and tried to stop herself from shaking. She would’ve been a fool to be unafraid. There was nowhere she could run now, not with Voldemort in such close proximity. Though she had summoned enough courage for this mission, she hadn’t prepared herself enough for a direct confrontation with the darkest wizard in history.

Without warning, a curse hit her on the side, causing her to fly through the air and onto the ground. She would’ve noticed that the spell was cast by a Death Eater if the sound of glass breaking hadn’t reached her ears. Horrified and certain that it was caused by the flask shattering, she sucked in a deep breath and mildly registered Voldemort’s scream of rage. An eerily cool sensation traveled through her nostrils, down to her lungs, and into her system before she realized that something was very wrong.

The feeling of something heavy being dropped into her stomach nearly made her throw up, and she doubled over in pain with both of her arms wrapped around her middle. She didn’t even notice it when Voldemort sent a flash of green towards his follower, preventing the latter from causing harm to her. She bit down hard on her inner cheek, drawing blood, to stop herself from screaming, and that was when she noticed that the “something” in her stomach was— _**were** _ moving around.

She couldn’t even attempt to struggle away when Voldemort grabbed her by the arm and Apparated. Once they’d reached wherever Voldemort had meant to take them to, her arm was dropped like a hot potato, and she slumped to the floor, still overwhelmed by agony.

She had no idea how long it was, but slowly, the pain started to subside until there was only a dull feeling at the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, her chin was grabbed and she was staring into blood-red eyes.

He spoke, though it wasn’t a language she understood, and somewhere in the back of her mind, it registered that he was speaking in Parseltongue. It wasn’t the harsh, forced pronunciation she had heard from Harry before; instead, it was very much like the animal the language had been named after. The syllables wrapped around her like cold silk and released her before she could begin to wonder how the sounds could be produced by human tongue.

He must’ve seen something he wanted to see, since a ghost of a satisfied smirk appeared on his face. Fear surged through Hermione’s body, giving her enough strength to push herself away from his grasp. He allowed her to move away, though his eyes remained on her, taking in her movements and facial expressions, as he slowly straightened himself up to standing position.

What the hell was inside the flask? Her mind quickly analyzed the situation before coming to a horrible conclusion.

_Crap, crap, crap._

Voldemort opened his mouth, apparently to talk; however, Hermione beat him to it.

“Your soul pieces were inside that flask?” she asked, her tone of voice much higher than usual and close to a squeak.

Surprise flashed over Voldemort’s face, and though it disappeared just as quickly, it was enough to confirm Hermione’s suspicions.

“You mean I have _**you** _ inside me now!?” she nearly shrieked, horrified, ashamed, and angry at the situation she found herself in as she, too, stood up. “How the hell do I get you out of me!?”

She raised her wand, but before she got to cast a spell, the wand was magicked out of her hand. It made a perfect arc across the air and landed in Voldemort’s pale, white hand. The urge to stomp over and pry her wand out of his filthy hand was tempting, but she pushed it down.

“Not with amateur magic,” Voldemort answered, rather condescendingly.

At that moment, her temper flared, and without thinking, she responded, “Oh really? Then let’s see the magic of the ‘greatest’ dark wizard since Grindelwald. What are you waiting for? Please get those splintered pieces of immortality-obsessed, bigoted souls out of me. Nobody wants them.”

It was after those words left her mouth that she realized that it was probably unwise, but then she remembered that with most of his souls inside of her, he might not very be inclined to kill her on the spot. With that thought in mind, she tilted her head upwards, glaring at Voldemort challengingly.

The murderous look on Voldemort’s face might’ve caused Hermione to run for cover in any other cases, but currently, she honestly felt that death might be preferable to this. With his soul inside her, she felt tainted. Even if it meant that he would kill her immediately after retrieving his soul pieces, Hermione felt that it would be worth it.

Voldemort closed his eyes, and suddenly, she felt something stir inside her. She glanced downwards and found no change. However, the strange feeling of things circling inside her body continued. It pulled and pushed, as if the things inside her—she supposed they were the soul pieces—were searching for an exit but to no avail.

Beads of sweat started to form on Voldemort’s face, and the magic in the air was thick. The things inside her started to move even faster, and Hermione swayed on her feet. It made her feel dizzy, and the urge to vomit grew stronger by the second until she couldn’t hold it in anymore; she dry-heaved on the spot. The soul pieces lurched and she retched again.

She wanted to tell Voldemort to stop, but her pride forced her to remain silent as she endured the torture. Finally, the stirring stopped, and she slumped to the floor, breathing heavily. She kept her eyes on Voldemort without speaking.

A deep scowl was now on his face as he, too, glared back at her.

“Well? They’re obviously still inside me,” Hermione said.

“Obviously,” he replied, annoyance appearing in his voice for the first time that night.

She stared, a bad feeling as well as dread washing over her at the same time. “You—you—you do know how to get those soul pieces out, don’t you?”

“Are you questioning my magical skills, Granger?” he asked, irritation more apparent than ever.

“Yes, I am because your damned soul pieces are still inside me,” she spat out.

He was suddenly in front of her, and before she could back away, his hand grasped her throat, constricting it. What happened next took Hermione by surprise. The fact that he was threatening her, strangling her, should’ve made her frightened, perhaps even made her angry. However, the sudden need to lean into his touch both revolted and confused her.

 _Must be the soul pieces_ , the answer flew by in her mind.

Nonetheless, the thoughts were quickly thrown to the side when he started to tighten his hold, and she began to fight against him. She clawed at his hand while attempting to kick him, but he didn’t seem to have any intention of letting her go at all. Her struggles became more and more desperate as he applied more and more pressure to her neck, nearly cutting off her supply of air. Her life flashed before her eyes as sudden grief and fear washed over her.

_I don’t want to die like this!_

“Don’t test my limit, Mudblood,” he said quietly, his red eyes glinting ominously, as if he didn’t notice her struggling. “You had enough common sense to deduce the very obvious reason why I did not kill you on the spot, but do not assume that I will hold back in torturing you whenever I feel a lesson to put you in your rightful place is required. Your _**shell** _ is the only thing that is useful to me at the current moment. It wouldn’t matter very much to me if you remain in one piece or if your sanity gets lost somewhere along the line of being tormented. Do we understand one another?”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, attempting to breathe in air.

“Do we understand one another, Mudblood? And do not make me ask you a third time,” he hissed.

She nodded with difficulty, her eyes watering, and his fingers slowly loosened. She crashed on to the floor when she was finally released, coughing. Her hands shakily went to her neck, and she winced when she touched the area where his hand had been. Her heart pounded painfully against her chest, and she inhaled deeply, appreciating the ability to breathe for the very first time in her life.

“While you are here, you are not to leave this room,” he instructed, as if he had not just manhandled her a few seconds ago.

She wasn’t about to tread on the line between life and death so soon after he’d nearly strangled her, so she quietly nodded. However, that didn’t seem to put him at ease at all. Without another word, he swirled around and waved his wand, putting up wards. With another flick of his wand, one of the two doors inside the room disappeared. Though the windows were covered by curtains, Hermione betted that they had vanished, too.

“The bathroom is through that door,” he said, nodding his head towards the only door left in the room.

His actions frightened her. They implied that she might be staying here much longer than necessary, and because of that, she could no longer hold her tongue.

“But I—the soul pieces—they wouldn’t stay that long in my body, would they? I mean, if you were to—if you’d wanted to get your soul pieces back from Horcruxes, it shouldn’t be that difficult, should it?” she asked, her voice hoarse and sounding foreign to her own ears.

He gazed at her, his eyes unreadable pits of red. “The soul pieces in the flask were not meant to be kept in Horcruxes.”

A sense of dread washed over her, but she recomposed her emotions, ignored the discomfort in her throat, and rasped, “But it doesn’t matter if they were going to be kept in Horcruxes or not. Perhaps however you extract souls from Horcruxes doesn’t work. Big deal. There has to be other ways to extract souls from things that aren’t Horcruxes.”

Voldemort sat down in one of the two armchairs inside the room. “I think you’ve misunderstood my meaning, Miss Granger.”

He did not elaborate, and Hermione had no idea if it were because he didn’t want to share the information or if he didn’t know how to put his thoughts into words. Nonetheless, Hermione wasn’t one to sit back and let her questions stew.

She stood up and slowly made her way to the empty armchair, despite the fact that her body was still slightly shaking. She sat down in the chair and looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“But you’ve said souls,” she said when he didn’t answer. “Isn’t a person or an object that holds a fragment of the soul of another person considered a Horcrux?”

A wry smile appeared on Voldemort’s face. “If things were only that simple.” His expression slipped back into impassiveness. “I wasn’t planning on putting those soul fragments into another object … or person.”

Silence reigned. It was so prominent that Hermione was sure that she could’ve heard a pin drop as the underlying meaning to his words formed a picture in her mind.

“You mean …” she enunciated slowly, “... you mean, you were planning on merging the fragment of soul inside your body … with those fragments …?”

She ogled at him, watching his expression and hoping against hope that he would shake his head, proving her wrong.

“Yes.”

That single syllable word sounded more like the sound of a bomb dropping on top of her head. She slumped into the chair as if all the energy had been sucked out of her.

This had to be some kind of joke.

\------------------------------------

The next couple of weeks went by so slowly that it was bordering on torture. Voldemort had tried various different methods to get the soul pieces out of her body but to no avail.

“They’ve latched onto your magical core,” he had informed her grimly.

At least she’d now figured out why she’d gotten the flask so easily. The soul pieces were kept in the flask after they had been “prepared” to reunite with the bit of soul still left inside Voldemort. Therefore, any magic used near and around the flask might cause some kind of reaction to the soul fragments kept inside. Too bad she’d found out about this information a bit too late.

She theorized that this was also the reason why she reacted the way she did whenever he got too close to her. The pull towards him was undeniable, and Hermione had a feeling that he knew it, judging from the faint smirk that appeared on his face whenever that happened. It made her want to dig a hole in the ground and hide there forever.

She knew that it was because of Voldemort’s soul inside of her, reaching out to the soul inside him, but it didn’t make it less embarrassing— _**traumatizing and utterly horrifying** _ — whenever she unconsciously leaned towards him before she caught herself.

What made it nearly unbearable was the fact that the room turned out to be _**his** _ room. Hermione refused to sleep in the same bed as him, of course.

“It’s not a problem. I actually don’t mind if you sleep on the floor,” Voldemort had condescendingly informed her.

“I don’t mind either, since it seems like Transfiguring something to a bed is just a bit too advanced of a magic,” she’d quipped.

Voldemort had narrowed his eyes at her, but in the end, he’d still Transfigured one of the armchairs into a bed for her. She would’ve seen it as a triumph if she hadn’t noticed the three shelves filled to the brim with books surrounding said bed. So other than suffering Voldemort’s presence, she also had to fight off the urge to grab all the rare tomes on the shelves and read them. Needless to say, she hardly got any sleep and was, therefore, more irritable than usual. Voldemort didn’t seem to be faring much better either, judging from the ire on his face that seemed to grow with each passing day.

After the thirteenth day (and after trying the fifty-sixth different method to get the souls out), Hermione was tired, frustrated, and on the brink of completely breaking down.

“How difficult could this be?” she snapped when Voldemort stopped with his spell-casting.

He froze on the spot, and his expression was, again, unreadable. Instead of scaring her, it raised her anger another notch.

Some “greatest wizard in the world” he was! He couldn’t even get his damned soul pieces out of her!

“Granger—”

“I have had enough of this! We’ve tried fifty-six different methods—yes, I’ve been counting—and other than giving me pains all over, they didn’t work. If your final goal was to torture me, I would’ve rather you told me right from the beginning instead of—”

“If I’d wanted to torture you, Mudblood, I would’ve done so without giving you idiotic reasons. Use that head of yours—”

“—telling me that it’s because of your stupid soul pieces. Oh right, I’m the one who’s _**not** _ using my head now, aren’t I? I’m not the one who came up with fifty-six _**useless** _ methods—”

“—It doesn’t hurt your brain to think once in a while. The standards must be pretty low if they’re calling you the ‘brightest witch of her age’. I’ve already told you that this hadn’t happened before and it wasn’t _**meant** _ to have happened. If you hadn’t stolen the flask—”

“—though I assume it’s easy for you, since you’re not the one who has to go through the methods. If you hadn’t decided to take over the world and kill everyone, perhaps I wouldn’t have thought about blocking your way to immortality! For all I care, continue with your stupid obsession, but no—”

“—none of this would’ve happened. Did you think it was easy, thinking of ways to extract the soul pieces? It’s not my fault that they found your magical core compatible in magic, and I don’t need to explain the reasons for my actions to a Mudblood.”

“—let’s kill Harry and destroy the lives of everyone he cares for. Such a healthy way to work out your childhood issues. Compa— _**what** _?”

They stared at one another. Voldemort was sporting that indecipherable face again, though his hand had tightened into a fist around his wand.

“You said—no,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re lying.”

Though that was what she said, the first thought that went through her head was “ _That was why he refrained from using magic to torture me, to prevent the souls from becoming more firmly attached to my magical core._ ”

A cold smile appeared on Voldemort’s face. “And that would benefit me in what way?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied bluntly.

 _But you always lie, so I’m not putting that past you_ , was left unsaid.

Voldemort remained silent, as if he were waiting for her to speak. When she failed to deliver, due to the turmoil her mind was going through, he Disapparated from the room.

He had to be lying. Hermione just knew he had to be.

\------------------------------------

“You’ve cheated,” she said sourly as she stared at the chessboard.

He waved his hand towards it. “Pray tell, how did I cheat?”

She stared at the damned chessboard for so long that she was pretty sure she could burn holes through it soon. However, for the life of her, she couldn’t think of an answer. She had stated that accusation as an immediate reaction; she’d known that she wasn’t good at chess, judging from the many times she’d lost against Ron, but she’d never suffered such a quick loss.

“... Never mind,” she muttered in the end, still glaring at the chessboard. “One more game?”

A snort came from him and he shook his head. “No thanks, Granger, I’ve had my ego boosted up enough for the day after beating you seven times, though I suppose it’s not much of an ego boost when your opponent is so horrible at the game.” He shot her a condescending glance.

“Yeah, yeah, keep rubbing it in,” she grumbled.

Hermione couldn’t very well remember how they’d started playing chess with one another; it would’ve been far less odder if they had been friends or even acquaintances. But they were enemies, the worst kind of enemies there were. Nonetheless, for the past couple of days, they’d managed to hold civil conversations while playing chess out of all things.

It had opened Hermione’s eyes to the things that Voldemort knew. It became apparent after a couple of conversations that he wasn’t just well-versed in magic; he had a firm understanding in Muggle things as well, much to her surprise. Though she would deny it if anyone asked, she secretly admitted to herself that she enjoyed having these conversations with him. Surprisingly, she seemed to be getting slightly better at chess. At least she didn’t lose within five minutes into a game nowadays.

“Are we going to try a different method today?” she asked, none too enthusiastically.

He didn’t immediately answer, and Hermione was under the impression that he was deep in thought. She gazed at him curiously, wondering what he was up to this time. It took nearly a full minute before he realized she was observing him, and he looked back at her questioningly, which she answered to with a roll of her eyes.

“Are we going to try a different method today?” she repeated.

“No, not today,” he replied. “I will need to do some research in Malfoy’s library—no, I don’t have to raid Lucius’s library. He may be rich, but he doesn’t exactly have the intelligence to figure out where Merlin hid his possessions.”

A self-satisfied look appeared on his face, but it was thoroughly ignored by Hermione.

“Why don’t you just bring all the books here then?” she asked.

He crossed his arms over his chest and theatrically peered over her shoulders at his book collection. “So you can stare at the titles and salivate all over the floor some more?”

A blush tainted her cheeks and she crossed her arms over her chest, too. “I was just being curious.”

“Curiosity kills the cat, Granger,” he said.

“But satisfaction brought it back,” she replied snarkily.

A mocking glint appeared in his eyes. “Satisfaction? According to the piece of soul that was in Potter, he wasn’t … _**adventurous** _ enough to give anyone satisfaction.”

She sputtered, not missing his underlying meaning. “I didn’t mean it that way!” Attempting to steer the conversation back to safe waters, she added, “And besides, cats have nine lives.”

He gave her a look that clearly told her that he knew what she was doing. Nonetheless, he answered, “Metaphorically.”

Nonetheless, his words made her head reel. She’d previously thought that there were only two soul pieces left inside that flask—the one from the diadem and one from Nagini. But apparently, there were other soul pieces in there as well, not to mention she’d never known there was a soul piece in Harry. She was pretty certain that Voldemort himself didn’t know this either, so how did he retrieve that soul piece from wherever it had gone after Harry died? Perhaps he’d performed some kind of dark ritual to reacquire all the soul fragments that had been lost due to his Horcruxes being destroyed?

He tilted his head to one side, seemingly surprised that she didn’t answer. Upon seeing this, Hermione threw those speculations to the back of her head for a later time.

“Seeing that I currently have your soul pieces in my body, I do think that I don’t necessarily have to worry about my personal health at the moment,” she said smugly.

He leaned forward, his red eyes glinting almost challengingly. “If you were as certain about your health as you claim to be, you would’ve touched those books on the shelves instead of spending your time staring hungrily at them.”

She could almost feel her cheeks turn a darker shade of red. Recomposing herself, she retorted, “Perhaps I just didn’t want anything to do with dark magic.”

Instead of answering her, he laughed, and Hermione had the unpleasant feeling that he was laughing _**at her** _.

“What’s so funny?” she demanded.

It took a while for him to stop laughing, much to Hermione’s displeasure, and even when he did, he still had that annoying smirk on his face.

“You’re an atrocious liar, Granger,” he remarked.

“I’m not lying,” she protested.

“Hm …” he replied.

“I’m not lying,” she repeated.

“If you insist,” he answered mockingly as he got out of his armchair. “I’ll be back later.”

It was after he Disapparated that she realized, she didn’t know what Voldemort was accusing her of lying about.

\------------------------------------


	2. Chapter 2

" _Souls Theory_?" Hermione read the title out loud.

"Checked that one last week. About as useful as its owner," Voldemort replied from where he was sitting.

A wry grin appeared on Hermione's face as she looked through the books in the Malfoy's personal library.

" _The Theories of_ —wait, what?" She squinted her eyes at the title, wondering if she'd read it wrong.

" _The Theories of Chicken Soup and Their Effects on Devil's Snare_. No, you did not read it wrong," Voldemort replied without looking away from the tome in his hands.

She rolled her eyes and continued to hunt for a book that might hold the key to getting Voldemort's soul out of her.

Suddenly, the title of a book caught her eyes. "Have you read that one?  _The Connection Between the Soul and a Wizard_?"

Voldemort glanced at her before closing the book in his hand and placing it on the table. Swirling out of the chair, he glided over to where Hermione was standing.

"Where?"

"Over there," she pointed to one of the higher shelves.

With a flick of his wand, the book fell into Voldemort's hands. However, at the same time, she saw another book that also looked like a potential book for answers.

"What about that one?" she asked.

"Wait, Hermione," he said, his red eyes skimming through the contents of the book at a fast pace.

Sighing, Hermione turned back to the bookshelves. She tentatively tested the sturdiness of one of the lower shelves before climbing on them. She climbed onto the third shelf from the bottom before she could touch the book that had caught her eyes.

"Come on," she muttered to herself.

"What are you doing?" Voldemort's voice traveled to her ears.

"Just a second," she replied through gritted teeth as she stretched her arm to the limit.

She nudged the bottom of the book until it moved out slightly, enough for her to grab the spine. With a triumphant yell, she pulled the book out, but her cheer was quickly turned into a yelp. She hadn't realized, or rather, she hadn't seen that there were other books on top of said book, and they came tumbling down on top of her.

With a crash, she fell on top of Voldemort, who had been standing behind her. They both fell on to the floor, with her sitting on top of him, and thus, knocking the wind out of him. At the same time, the door to the library opened.

A strangled noise came from Draco Malfoy's throat as he took in the scene in front of him.

"I'm sorry, my Lord," he squeaked, taking an incredulous look at Hermione before exiting the room and slamming the door behind him.

It was then that Hermione realized that their position was, to say the least, incriminating, causing her cheeks to flare up.

"Would you mind getting off me already, Hermione?" Voldemort requested, sounding exasperated.

"He's going to get the wrong impression!" she screeched as she scrambled off his body and stood up.

"And your point is?" he asked as he waved his wand over his body to run a simple diagnosis test.

Somehow, he still managed to look almost regal, sitting on the floor with some books scattered around him.

"He might tell everyone else," she added, trying to make him see what the problem was.

"That Hermione Granger was fornicating with Lord Voldemort in his library?" he asked, amused.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, distraught.

To Hermione's horror, he  _ **shrugged**_. If she hadn't remembered who he was, she might've opted to stomp over to him and kick him, but as it was, she contented her with sending daggers at him.

"Granger," he sighed, "you're thinking too much into the situation—"

"Thinking too much?  _ **Thinking too much**_? Did you see the look on his face before he ran out?"

"He could've been simply surprised to see you here," he pointed out.

"Yes, here, in his library, on top of  _ **you**_ ," she said, her voice an octave higher than usual.

"Well, the situation could've been worse, like having young Malfoy on top of me," he deadpanned.

Hermione's mouth dropped open. There were so many things ridiculous about his answer that she didn't even know where to begin. She knew that he had a dry sense of humor, but joking about something like this? When Draco Malfoy could easily go out and start spreading rumors about him having sex with a Muggle-born witch? What was he thinking?

However, those became less important because of another issue at hand.

"Did you just compare me to Draco Malfoy?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes dangerously.

His red eyes glinted with amusement. "I suppose I owe you an apology."

It didn't sound very sincere, but Hermione decided to take what she could get and went on to the next subject.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"About what?"

"About Draco Malfoy!"

"I suppose we can kill him, but his father would be—"

"I'm being serious around here!" she fumed.

He rolled his eyes. "Hermione dear, we had clothes on."

"As if it's not possible to have sex with clothes on," she ranted. "For all he knows, we could've just had our pants off—"

He eyed her with amusement and renewed interest. "Never took you for the unconventional type. Thought you would've been more of the romantic, light-up-the-candles type of girl. Or maybe 'Let's recite the ten rules to perfect wand-waving' type. But definitely not the kinky, 'Let's have sex in someone else's library like heated bunnies that can't be bothered with taking their clothes off properly' type."

She stared at him, not knowing how to answer to that. Was she seriously having a conversation about something like  _ **this**_  with Lord Voldemort in Malfoy's library? She was starting to doubt her own sanity. Not to mention she hated how he was twisting her words around, and she told him exactly that.

He sighed. "Then what do you propose we do?"

"Explain it to him. Or something."

"Or something," he repeatedly sardonically with a roll of his eyes. "As if that wouldn't be more conspicuous, Granger. Just leave him alone. You're giving him too much credit. He has the courage of a ferret—"

She uncontrollably snorted at his choice of animal.

"—and wouldn't want to attract my attention, something which he  _ **would**_  be doing if he dared to say anything about my … sexual escapades with a Mudblood witch who happened to be his classmate."

She bit into her lower lip, still worried about the whole situation though she knew what he said made sense.

"Now, are you going to continue worrying about something as insignificant as young Malfoy, or are we going to continue going through the books?" he asked, picking up a book that was sitting beside him.

Without waiting for an answer from her, he opened the book in his hand and started flipping through it.

She continued staring at him for a while, but it became clear that he had opted to ignore her. Though not completely satisfied with how the whole situation had turned out (as far as Hermione was concerned, a small Memory Charm on Draco Malfoy wouldn't do much harm), she sat down on the floor and grabbed one of the books that had fallen off the shelf.

After a couple of minutes and books later, a sudden snort from Voldemort caused her to look up. His eyes flickered towards her, and the smirk on his face deepened.

"What?" she asked.

Still smirking, he held out the book in his hand to her. With curiosity, she grabbed it and flipped through it without reading the title. A furious blush appeared on her face after she read the first page, and she closed it when a snap and glared at him.

"You can't say that it's not … amusingly coincidental," he said.

"Not funny," she remarked.

"That's because you have a dreadful sense of humor."

"That's not true," she defended herself. "I don't see how not finding a book about sex magic 'funny' equates to having a dreadful sense of humor."

"In combination with what just happened? I think it's rather hilarious," he assessed. He peered at the book. "If you're too mortified to look through it, I would like to take another look at it."

She pushed down the condescension and snarky comments that threatened to spill from her lips and said bossily, "We're looking for books about souls, just in case you'd forgotten. We're not exactly here for a school trip."

He sighed exaggeratedly. "Which is why I never agreed with Hogwarts' curriculum in taking out all lectures about dark magic. If they hadn't done that, you would've known that a lot of sex magic has direct connections with the soul, though I'd have to admit that I'd forgotten that little piece of information before I saw that book. I wanted to look through that book because a solution might be in there, not because of those tasteless jokes that are going through that bushy-haired head of yours right now."

The blush came back to her cheeks full force, and she held the book as far away from him as she could.

"Ev-even if there is a solution, yo-you can't possibly th-think about going through—"

He eyed her carefully. "I want my soul pieces out of your body as soon as possible."

"Bu-but that doesn't mean … I'm  _ **Muggle-born**_. Y-you're …" she trailed off, not knowing what to say.

He tilted his head to one side and crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you want those soul pieces out of you or not, Hermione?"

"Of course I want them out! Why wouldn't I?"

He shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? Perhaps you think it would be a perfect way to keep my souls hostage … or perhaps you've grown attached to them."

"Yeah right," she answered dryly. "I'm completely in love with your soul pieces—"

"I'd guessed that much, seeing how quickly you assumed it looked like we were copulating on the floor."

"—so much that I want them out of my body as soon as possible. It was Malfoy who'd thought that, not me!" she protested.

He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling before looking back at her again. "So are you going to read through that book or are you going to give it to me?"

Her preferred option wasn't on the list, to be honest, so she opted with the lesser of the two evils. "I'll go through the book."

The smirk returned onto his face. "Sure you can handle it?"

"It's just sex magic," she said stonily.

"Suit yourself," he answered as he picked up another book.

After the first couple of pages, Hermione regretted her decision. Not that she was a virgin, but some of the things depicted in the book were mind-boggling while others were blush-inducing.

"Would you like me to cast an  _Aguamenti_  on you, dear? I think I can fry an egg on your cheeks by now," Voldemort commented lazily.

She gave him a dirty look, though it didn't stop her from wondering if he had ever tried any of the spells inside the book. That opened up another can of worms, and soon her mind was traveling down a completely inappropriate trail.

Images started to form in her head, unbidden, and caused her cheeks to feel even warmer than before, and she nearly wanted to bury her face into the book. This was absurd. She was not mentally conjuring up sexual scenes featuring Lord Voldemort in the middle of Malfoy's library.

Shaking her head, she forced herself to concentrate on the book instead of letting curiosity get the best of her.

A title caught her attention, and the blood drained from her face when she realized that what Voldemort had said was true. There was a whole section in the book dedicated to the link between magic and souls, and she had the niggling feeling that the answer might be on any page now.

Her hands slightly shaking, she flipped through the pages, and then, the answer was laid bare in front of her.

_No, no, no. There had to be some other option. Please let there be another option._

"Hm …"

Hermione quickly looked up and asked, "Did you find something?"

"This might work," he answered, waving his hand over the book in front of him.

Hope seemed to make the world slightly brighter, and she quickly scooted over to read what he had found. She blanched when she saw what it said.

"No."

He sighed tiresomely. "Hermione …"

"You don't know if it'll work, and you've already said that the soul pieces in my body are not made to be held in Horcruxes. Putting another piece of your soul inside my body will probably make the situation worse, and I'm not about to watch you murder someone for a plan that might not work," she said firmly. "So the answer is no."

A cold laugh left his lips. "What makes you think you're in charge here?"

She stilled as his words processed in her mind.

"Because I have been lenient with you for the past couple of weeks, Granger? Or perhaps you feel that I'm getting … sentimental towards you because I've spent some time with you so I'll be willing to follow your orders?"

The redness of his eyes were like fires from the depths of hell now, threatening to scorch and burn her to ashes any minute now, and Hermione realized that his patience had run thin with her continued disapproval on things.

"There could be other options—" she began to say.

"I've looked through nearly all of Malfoy's book collections, Granger. This is the only way I've seen so far, and like I've said, I prefer to get this over and done with. I've been neglecting other plans because of this inconvenience, and I'm not about to let it hinder me any longer."

"I've found another spell," she quickly said, placing the book she had been reading in front of him.

The title on top of the page, "Magic Mingling Ritual," suddenly seemed so glaringly obvious, and Hermione determinedly avoided looking at the pictures drawn on the page. She'd read it before, of course, when her eyes first landed on it. It was a ritual to heighten the sexual pleasures of the people participating in the ritual through using magic at its rawest form. The whole thing didn't seem too complex, but she couldn't fathom how  _ **anyone**_  could be as ecstatic as the people depicted in the drawings.

Voldemort remained silent as he read and reread the contents displayed on the page.

"Magic Mingling Ritual …" he finally spoke, his voice soft.

"You've said that the souls are inside my body because they're attached to my magical core, but … your magical core should have a stronger pull towards your soul pieces. If your magic enters my body, perhaps they'll … I don't know, re-enter your body in that way," she said.

Her cheeks felt hot, and when his eyes flickered towards her face, she felt her body temperature rise another couple of notches.

"It requires sexual intercourse," he said matter-of-factly.

"I know. The book is about sex magic," she replied, her voice higher than usual.

"You were opposed to it," he pointed out.

"It's … the lesser of the two evils," she said with some difficulty.

"It might not work," he added, leaning with his back against the table.

"None of the spells might work," she muttered. "Nobody's cra—nobody had tried to split their souls into so many pieces and then attempted to put them back together, so I doubt there will be cases where they would need to get their souls out of someone else's body."

He gave her a look that told her he knew exactly what she was about to say, but she maintained a blank look on her face and waited for his decision.

They looked at one another for so long that Hermione almost thought that he was going to say no, and then, much to her relief, he slowly nodded.

"Very well then."

Things were often easier said than done, and in Hermione's case, she had to say that even the "saying" part came with a good amount of difficulty, too.

She could tell herself as many times as she wanted that "It was just sex", but it didn't change the fact that she felt more than a little uptight. However, what terrified her even more was when the idea of sleeping with Lord Voldemort didn't disgust her as much as she thought it would.

Perhaps it was because she knew she had to do this. It could be because she knew she had no other choice. Maybe it was because she knew it prevented an innocent life from being taken. However, other than anxiety, she didn't feel the other negative emotions that she knew should be associated with "sleeping with Lord Voldemort."

Never mind how she'd previously believed him to be some sexless creature who didn't have needs.

_Well, that explains why he keeps Bellatrix Lestrange around._

She shook that thought from her head, though that didn't stop her from envisioning herself in Bellatrix's place.

_Stop!_

Just because she was about to sleep with him didn't mean that she was going to stoop so low as to do his bidding and follow him around like a lovesick puppy. It was an one-time thing. After he got his soul pieces out of her, everything would be back to normal. She should be more worried about how she could escape after he did get his soul fragments back.

She was so immersed in her thoughts that she nearly jumped when Voldemort Apparated into the room without a sound. He raised a non-existent eyebrow at her when he saw the expression on her face.

"It's not the first time I've Apparated in here," he said, amused. "Or you're having seconds thoughts about our … plan?"

There was an underlying challenge to his words, and she was never one to back down from a challenge. Resolutely, she shook her head, though she couldn't help but wonder if she would regret it later on.

"Have you showered yet?" he asked.

She looked at him, surprised.

A faint smirk appeared on his face. "We have to go through the motions, so we might as well enjoy ourselves."

She suddenly wished that the floor would open up and swallow her whole. His words were actually quite normal, but it made her conscious of the situation she had placed herself in. Perhaps he was doing it on purpose.

"And I'm not letting you into my bed before you've cleaned yourself," he added much to her mortification.

She stalked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She let out a deep breath as she leaned against the wall, wondering if she were doing the right thing. She doubted he would let her out of the deal now. Unless she said okay to murdering someone.

She groaned and rubbed her hands over her face. How did she end up in a situation like this? With a heavy heart, she stripped off her clothes, stepped into the shower, and turned the water on to the hottest she could take. The water spilled onto her, clearing her mind somewhat and somehow washing away her wariness.

Having sex with Lord Voldemort shouldn't be high on her list of worries. Getting out of here alive should be her priority. Her chances were low, especially since she didn't even have her wand anymore; he hadn't given it back to her yet. If he got … too excited, perhaps she could steal his wand along the way? Then again, she was never certain  _ **where**_  he kept his wand.

Attempting to kill him wouldn't work until he had all the soul fragments inside his body. Perhaps that was the route she should travel down?

"Are you trying to drown yourself in there, Granger?"

His sarcastic words were slightly muffled by the walls, but nonetheless, loud enough for her to clearly hear what he'd said.

With a sigh, she turned off the water and realized in horror that she'd forgotten to ask which towel she could use.

"Um … I don't have a towel," she called.

"Use the one on the rack," he answered, and she could almost imagine him rolling his eyes.

"That's your towel, isn't it?" she asked worrisomely.

A span of nearly ten seconds passed before he spoke again, "Granger—"

"Okay, okay, I get it," she immediately replied, knowing exactly what he was going to say next.

Awkwardly, she grabbed the towel on the rack and dried herself before wrapping it around her body. For a moment, she wondered if she should get dressed but decided not to. It would be a bit pointless after all.

She opened the door and walked into the bedroom again, only to find him in bed with his chest bare, reading a book. He must've heard the door open, since he immediately looked up. When he saw her standing there, he marked the place he had been reading, placed the book on the bedside table, and motioned for her to go to the bed.

"Um … don't you need to shower first?" she asked, her legs not budging at all.

"So you can think about ways to get out of this for a bit longer before concluding it's our only option?" he teased. "I've already showered in another bathroom."

"Oh," she answered.

Adopting the pace of a snail, she shuffled over to the bed.

"Do I need to recite the ten rules of wand-waving before we begin?" he asked when she reached the edge of the bed.

The faux innocent look on his face was so out of place that Hermione couldn't help but laugh out loud. However, that quickly turned into a yelp when he grabbed her arm and pulled her closer.

"Your final chance to get out of this," he said, his eyes glinting with humor.

"You know I wouldn't choose to kill someone for the sake of saving myself," she told him.

"Bloody Gryffindors and their silly need to save everything with a pulse," he scoffed.

She bit the inside of her cheeks to prevent herself from saying anything.

"Get on the bed," he ordered, releasing her arm and moving over to make room for her.

Tentatively, she sat on the bed, all the while grabbing onto the edge of her towel. She was uncomfortably aware that he was looking at her, and instead of making her relax, she clutched the towel just a bit harder.

She sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, not sure in regards to whether he wanted her to lie down or remain sitting. She let out a gasp when his fingers danced over the skin of her shoulder and involuntarily shivered. She felt the bed move, and almost too slowly, he moved her hair to the side.

"Relax," he whispered before placing a kiss on the spot right behind her ear and slowly nibbling downwards toward her neck.

"Sh-shouldn't we just get this o-over and done with?" she stuttered, her heart pounding painfully against her chest, though she had no idea if it were because of fear or something else any longer.

 _Must be the soul pieces_ , she attempted to tell herself. After all, it wasn't the first time close contact with him had made her want to melt into his touch. Nonetheless, a traitorous voice in the back of her head spoke, telling her that that wasn't true, that it had nothing to do with the soul pieces.

He laughed softly against her skin. "I'm not into rape fantasies, Hermione. If I were, people wouldn't think of me as being …  _ **sexless**_  and without needs."

She should've known that he would be snooping around her mind. However, that thought was thrown to the back of her mind, when his fingers curled around her arms and he started nipping at a particularly sensitive area on her neck. Releasing her arm, one of his hands moved upwards and tilted her head around, and then, his lipless mouth captured hers.

Her other arm was released, and his free hand slipped to hers and pulled it away from the towel. She subconsciously acknowledged the towel slipping away as his fingers danced across her skin, causing goosebumps to appear all over her body. Almost gently, he turned her around and maneuvered her down to the bed, so that she was lying on the silk sheets, without interrupting their kiss.

The way he touched her, the way he kissed her, was like the way he did everything else—with precision and concentration. Hermione had no other choice but to follow his lead.

_Never going to think of him as a sexless creature again._

However, the stubborn side of her mind refused to cave in. She bit down on her lips to stop herself from whining in protest when he did something she particularly liked. He looked at her, and it was then that she realized that his eyes were a shade darker than usual; they reminded her of the expensive wine her grandfather used to keep for special occasions.

"Enjoy yourself, Hermione," he murmured, his voice hardly louder than a hiss, "or else the spell wouldn't work. You've read the book. Your magic won't be loose enough for the ritual to be completed. If you need to scream, moan, or move, I will not stop you."

A devious smile appeared on his face, and on other occasions, she might've been frightened. With a flick of his wrist, his wand appeared, and with a quick wave, he performed the spell as was dictated by the book followed by what she recognized as a kind of contraceptive spell.

Without further warning, he continued in his manipulations, eliciting moans and gasps from her lips with each flame he planted on her body. Her senses exploded as he moved against her until she couldn't feel anything else except for him and only him.

It took a while for her heartrate to return to normal. He settled her on the bed, and Hermione could feel him moving behind her.

"A-are the soul pieces out?" she asked quietly, her eyes looking at everything in the room but him.

"Yes," he answered, his voice neutral, and since he was behind her, she couldn't see his expression.

She swallowed hard, realizing that this was it, she was going to die. She waited for the infamous yew wand to flash out before a green streak of light crashed into her, ending her life. However, seconds and minutes passed. When nothing happened, she took a tentative look behind her and found him lounging against the headboard and reading the book he had been looking at before.

She continued staring until he looked up. He raised a non-existent eyebrow at her.

"Not tired yet?" he asked.

She thought she was imagining it when she saw a faint, wicked smirk appear on his face. However, she blinked and it was still there.

"Uh … I thought …" she trailed off, not certain how to express her confusion towards the absence of a Killing Curse being sent her way.

"Well, if you're not tired yet …" he said with a nod as he put the book back on the bedside table again.

Her eyes widened, and she scooted backwards when he reached towards her, his intentions obvious. That snapped her out of her confusion, and the words came out much more easily than she'd thought they would be.

"Aren't you going to kill me? You have your soul pieces back already, so I thought my usefulness to you ended."

She was glad she sounded so much more braver than she really felt. The last thing she needed was to be said she went down like a coward.

"Do you want me to kill you?"

"No," she answered. "Well … I don't know. I thought …"

"You think that I should kill you?" he asked.

"I don't know," she repeated. "It's just … your actions aren't corresponding with what you did in the past. I'm a Muggle-born witch, I'm part of the Order of the Phoenix. You wouldn't want me to be alive for just those two reasons, let alone everything else."

"Don't know what land you came from, but it sounds like you're trying to convince me to kill you. Rather vehemently, if I were to assess your attitude," he said, arching his leg up, placing his elbow on the knee, and resting his chin on top of his hand.

"It doesn't make sense to me," she replied.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, the expression on his face cryptic. "Perhaps I don't feel like killing you today."

That ticked her off. "So you're just saying that you're keeping me around like—like some plaything of yours?"

"Delightful suggestion, but no."

"Then what?" she questioned, frustrated.

He gazed at her quietly for a span of a few seconds before he spoke again, "Perhaps I'm keeping you alive because I see potential in you."

She faltered and stared at him as if he'd just grown two heads. "What are you talking about?"

"You have a lot of potential in you, Granger," he said, not the least bit frugal with his compliments, "and I'm not just talking about that mind of yours. Though I have to agree with the assessment that you do have quite an intelligent brain. No, your magical capacity is beyond what you imagine—"

"That still doesn't make sense to me," she interrupted. "Are you telling me that you're letting me, a potential strong enemy of yours, live because I can be trained?"

He laughed, a high, cold laugh that had the hair at the back of her neck standing up.

"Are you so certain that we will be enemies forever, Granger?" he questioned, fixing her with a piercing stare. "I've seen it in your eyes. You want all of this to end. You don't want this constant fighting and running. You want your world to go back to the peace that you've been living in before the war started."

"The war that  _ **you've**_  started," she argued.

"Touché, so wouldn't it make sense for you to … attempt to make changes from the inside?" he asked.

There was a sprinkle of sarcasm that didn't escape Hermione's attention.

She laughed bitterly. "Yeah, the Dark Lord taking suggestions from a Mudblood. That'll be the day."

He appeared amused and countered, "I allowed you to live."

Again, he'd stumped her, and his explanation was too weak. She didn't trust him in the least, but she also knew that he wasn't going to give her the answers she wanted.

"So you're keeping me here as a prisoner?" she asked quietly, wanting to know what her position was now.

"For the time being."

She gazed at him, requesting with her eyes for a further explanation.

"Until you swear your loyalty to me, I cannot allow you near my other followers."

She hated how he'd grouped her in with the Death Eaters, and she told him just that.

"You may not bear my Mark, but deep inside, you know you belong to me," he said. And she couldn't help but stare when he added, "And one day, you know you'll acknowledge it yourself."

After a long and pointless debate with her, in which she insisted that she would never sway over to the dark side, he watched from his bed as Hermione climbed into her bed and went to sleep.

With a flick of his wand, he dimmed the candles in the room. A smirk appeared on his face as he recalled the conversation he'd just had with her.

He hadn't been lying when he'd told her that his soul pieces were back inside him. However, he didn't tell her that she was now also a key to his immortality. A small piece of his magic was now residing inside her body, and as long as she lived, so would he.

The only things he had to do right now were prevent her from finding out that little piece of information and turn her to his side.

Though it might be hard to sway his little Mudblood, he was certain that she would bow down to him one day. It was in her magic. She might not realize it, but her potential for all kinds of magic was higher than she knew, or else his soul fragments wouldn't have latched on to her magical core so readily. He hadn't been lying when he said that they were compatible in magic.

Then again, it seemed like it wasn't just their magic that was compatible.

His smile deepened when he recalled their …  _ **activity**_. This one surprised him on too many occasions, and it would be a pity to off her so easily.

No, this witch was his. And he was never going to let her go.

~-0-~

_Fin._

~-0-~


End file.
